Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg

[Faux Flag]

1st Level | 0/1000 XP

Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg

Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR

 

"Draw."

 

Bang! A crack of thunder fills the air.

 

The smoking gun, held by a powerfully built orc man wearing leather chaps, a vest, and a shiny sheriff's badge, holds the attention of the gathering crowd. The orc slowly lowers the firearm, stowing it back in his holster. He carefully and deliberately walks up to a bloody dwarf, surveying his handiwork.

 

The orc sighs and shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry it had to go down this way, brother," he says, "but you picked the wrong side, and that I can't abide." He removes his pinched-front hat, holding it over his heart. After a moment, he lowers his head.

 

The entire saloon erupts in applause as the pianist begins to play. The orc bows deeply, and then helps the dwarf to his feet, who also bows to the attending patrons. The two walk to the bar, arm in arm, and order a bottle of whiskey.

 

 

The squat taproom of the Barrel & Bullet Saloon is packed to the rafters. A grimy establishment down a side street in the equally grimy and smoke-clogged Ferrous Quarter, the saloon is full of the downtrodden and lowlife who embody the seedier side of Alkenstar. Soot-covered miners and oily grease-monkeys rub shoulders with hardened fugitives. Hustlers fleece other patrons of their hard-earned coin⁠—honest or otherwise⁠—in card games and ponchoed desperadoes hand over dizzying sums of money to gunrunners for illicit firearms. At the bar, an outlaw knocks back a shot of flaming whiskey, the saloon's speciality. A moment passes after the roughneck swallows the dark spirit before his face suddenly bursts aflame. He frantically pats at the flames, choking them out, but not before his eyebrows are singed away. The outlaw gestures to the bartender for another.

 

"Thank you for attending!" A female dwarf stands on the bar top, addressing the patrons in a loud voice. "Whiskey is only two silver for the next hour, and that includes top-shelf. Come back next week for the conclusion of Hearts at High Noon and our after-party! Enjoy yourselves!"

 

The dwarven woman, Foebe Dunsmith, hops off the bar onto the sawdust-covered floor and heads to a back room, where a round table and private bar await. She props one foot up on a stool, leans forward on her knee, and casts a suspicious eye around the room—the room in which you are gathered. "Now that the show is over, let's talk business. I brought you all here because we share some common enemies. With your help, I can make them pay—and get you rich in the process. But first, I want you to tell me why you deserve a job that could pay your weight in gold."

 

With that, I'd like everyone to please introduce their characters to the campaign!

[Lex Samreeth]

A figure with most of his head enrobbed in rags and his eyes covered by goggles slowly begins undoing his covers, revealing high tasseled ears. And then he pulls off his goggles, revealing baby blue feline eyes. If you don't know him by his face, odds are you know him by reputation. Everyone in Alkenstar repeats the same adage, but never obeys it.

 

Don't talk to the Flopper.

 

"My dear Foebe, surely you don't need a justification for my value to any squad. There aren't many folks in Alkenstar who can beat me for weaseling information out of even the most tight-lipped thug."

 

Already, his eyes are squinted up and his lips are curled in that signature shit-eating grin of his. Even after the wanted posters had gone up, he hadn't stopped buying hot meals for the downtrodden workers or the unfortunate cripples tossed into the alley like the broken tools society compared them to. And Drewan lived by a simple philosophy. Anger plus gratitude plus desperation equals results. And nobody in Alkenstar, it seemed, got to the top without stepping on a few throats along the way.

 

"And even if we don't need more information, I'm more than capable of handling myself. I might be an oddball around here for not taking up a gun, but I've always favored the nice, quiet whisper of sharpened steel to a loud bang. After all, those who cannot convince by argument must rely on volume."

[farothel]

Chalia Chemaris, Elven fighter

Medium

Perception +6; low-light vision, darkvision

Str +4, Dex +1, Con +1, Int +2, Wis +1, Cha +0

---

AC 18; Fort +6, Ref +6, Will +4

HP 17/17; Speed 30 ft.

---

Character sheet: https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2349956 

 

Chalia wasn't really at ease in the tavern.  Ever since she had been falsely accused, she had been forced to stay in locations like this.  Of course, she was more than capable of defending herself, but she preferred not to as unexplained corpses could bring the watch in.  She was lucky that most people here didn't want the watch anymore than she did and the big sword she had with her also deterred casual violence.  And her muscles and the scars on her face also help to deter any violence, as well as ... other invitations.  Now her sword was standing beside her, as it was too big to be strapped to her back when sitting down, but she could draw it quickly from where it was now.

 

"I'm not sure why I should get the job without knowing what the job is," Chalia said, "But I can tell you I'm quite a good fighter, so if there's bashing to be done, I'm your woman.  And as he said, I can do it without the entire neighbourhood knowing.  Also I've lived for quite a few years.  Probably more then anybody here at the table and I'm still alive to tell about it."

[Davkas]

  

Kvikh Lawful Good Investigator 1 HP: 16/16 | AC: 16 | Perception: +6 Fort: +5 | Ref: +7 | Will: +6 ResourcesFILL ME | SpellsFILL ME | SkillsFILL ME

---

One of the shorter figures at the table pulls back his hood, revealing a sandy-furred ratfolk face with ears that almost rival Drewan's in size, if not in tasseled ostentation. Up to now he's been glancing one way and the other, trying to take the measure of the varied characters in the room, while his hands fidget unconsciously with a little white stick of chalk. His gaze is focused on Foebe now, with big, dark eyes narrowing.

 

Kvikh's a lot more at home in places like this than Chalia, but whether he's a welcome sight there... varies quite a bit. You never know what kind of investigation Kvikh is working on, and sometimes it's one that doesn't turn out well. Sometimes they involve using the rapier he carries, the one with the long-barreled pistol worked into it. These days his hood is looking a little more ragged than usual - unable to do business, and cut off from the warren for fear of bringing the shieldmarshals down on them, he's had to pawn most of his tools for eating money. The only reason he hasn't sold the rapier pistol is that going from a hunted rat to an unarmed hunted rat isn't exactly an appealing prospect.

 

He smiles rather grimly at Foebe's opening. "Because my weight in gold isn't very much, these days?" He shakes his head, brushing off his own joke. "Seriously, I'm probably the best investigator in this town who doesn't work for those common enemies you mentioned, and better than most of the ones that do. I can catch details that most people just can't see. And I might not be quite as good at turning on the charm as Flopper, but I know how people work, separately and together, and I know Smokeside like the back of my hand."

 

He taps his little stick of chalk on the table, then brushes away the chalk dust without looking down. "And I can turn my hand to most things that don't involve heavy lifting, except quitting. Never got the hang of that one."

Edited July 3, 2022 by Davkas (see edit history)

[cluttered]

Morgrym Bronzehall Dwarf Inventor 1 HP: 20/20 | AC: 18 | Perception: +5, darkvision Fort: +7 | Ref: +5 | Will: +7 Skills: Acrobatics +3, Arcana +7, Crafting +7, Diplomacy +2, Lore (Brigh) +7, Lore (Engineering) +7, Medicine +5, Religion +5, Society +7, Stealth +3

---

Morgrym tries to hide the nervousness he's currently hiding, but his fidgeting hands betray him. The heavyset dwarf looks well out of place in this seedy saloon, his white robes and soft boots well cleaned with just the bare minimum of dust and mud picked up on the walk to the saloon. When he speaks, his voice comes out higher pitched that you would expect, and the words seem to pour out of his mouth in a mad rush. "I know my appearances do not make me seem the right dwarf for the job, but you can trust that there is more to me than meets the eye. And if things get messy, my dutiful companion Cogsworth is more than fit for whatever may be required of us."

 

Morgyrm pauses with these last words to pat the bronze and silver automaton standing at his side. The beautiful construct of clockworks and gears had been his greatest project yet before he was so rudely accused of theft and heresy and cast out of the Temple of Brigh. The mere thought of the wrongs he had endured caused him to grimace angrily before continuing. "And never doubt the strength of will and resolve that will come to those who have a score to pay. We will work twice as hard since we work not just for money but for justice!" Nearly leaping our of his seat as his voice grows louder at this last exclamation, Morgrym quickly sits back down in embarrassment, shrinking down into his seat.

Edited July 11, 2022 by cluttered (see edit history)

[Faux Flag]

1st Level | 0/1000 XP

Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg

Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR

 

As you each introduce yourselves, Dunsmith pulls out a set of glass tumblers from underneath the table and places them on the surface. A bottle of whiskey (the non-flaming variety) appears in her hand⁠—a gold-trimmed bottle of equally golden Janderhoff Whiskey, brewed by the Janderhoff dwarves and known for its clean taste and punch—and she pours a measure of the spirit for each of you. 

 

"There's a lot of folks around here who have been wronged by Mugland or one of his cronies," Dunsmith explains. "No shortage of fools who think they're big shots and turn out to be not so big and end up filled with shots. What I need are people with the motive to get one over on Mugland as well as the means to pull it off; these opportunities don't come around often and there's no room for mistakes."   She swirls her glass of whiskey and takes a sip before placing it back down on the table. Then she leans forwards, her dark eyes taking on an air of intensity. "Here’s the game," Dunsmith says. "Ambrost Mugland has a decent portion of his funds invested in an old bank called the Gold Tank Reserve. It's a rundown temple of Abadar in Ironside Quarter that's mostly used by ranchers and crooked politicians. I happen to know they've sent half their clockwork handlers out for maintenance and won’t have them back until tomorrow afternoon. This is our chance to hit Mugland where it hurts.   "All you have to do is bust up the few clockworks remaining, get the vault key from the bank manager, and fill a sack with gold. Once you're done inside the bank, run out the back."

 

The dwarf pauses for a moment to take another sip of her drink, an almost casual gesture in contrast to the fervent atmosphere brought on by her conspiracy. "Mugland’s got a few crooked shieldmarshals on his payroll⁠—including that damn bastard, Deputy Loveless," Dunsmith continues, wrinkling her nose at the mention of the corrupt officer. "She and her goons are sure to be hot on your tail, but don't fight 'em: they'll gun you down in a second if you give them the chance. Just run away and they'll look like fools. Nothing's sure to fry the deputy's egg like crooks she can't catch, trust me. You can lose them in the Wailing Scrapyard just west of the Reserve. There's a sewer entrance within; from there, it's a straight shot back to this saloon, where you'll be safe.

 

"Any questions?"

[AnemoneEnemy]

 

Glumworth Cartwrong HP: 15/15 | AC: 16 | Perception: +4 Fort: +4 | Ref: +6 | Will: +6 ResourcesHalfling Luck - 1/day | SpellsFear Summon Fey L1: 2/2 | Skills Acrobatics +6 Crafting +7 Deception +4 Intimidation +4 Lore: Academia +7 Occultism +7 Society +7 Stealth +6 Thievery +6

---

---

A stained, discarded navy-blue scarf slides out from behind the bar. It raises two frayed tassels--once white, now the yellow-grey of permanent stains--up like eyestalks, and then slithers away and under the door like a snake. A moment later, the door bursts open, and standing in it is a deeply misshapen-looking individual.

Somewhere in between an ugly halfling and a gnome who's survived a war, he manages to be gangly despite standing three-foot-six, with hair the color of stale beer and the texture of a matted dog. He wears what must once have been a respectable suit, several dozen patches and repaired seams ago--at least, on the person it was actually sized for. His cravat is half-yellowed with sweat, and the fake gold watch chain tucked into his vest pocket doesn't seem to have anything on the other end, judging by how flat the pocket is.
His eyes are reddened and bloodshot, and he looks like he spent the night passed out in the gutter after crawling through half the bars in the city.

"Did you say Mugland? Ambrost Mugland?"

The scarf crawls up his leg, wrapping itself around his waist like a sash, its tassel eyes peeking out for a moment before it tucks them away behind his back.
"I'll land one right on his ugly mug, more like! I'll make that asshole with a dwarf-shaped tumor around it pay like a good investment!"

 

 

[farothel]

Chalia Chemaris, Elven fighter

Medium

Perception +6; low-light vision, darkvision

Str +4, Dex +1, Con +1, Int +2, Wis +1, Cha +0

---

AC 18; Fort +6, Ref +6, Will +4

HP 17/17; Speed 30 ft.

---

Character sheet: https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2349956 

 

"Just so I understand," Chalia said as she looked at the others to get a feel for their reactions, "you want us to break into a temple of Abadar and then rob a bank.  I'm not saying I won't be doing it, but I just want to make sure we're on the same page.  Well, my main question will be the usual.  Floor plans, number of guards beside those clockworks and also, how strong are those clockworks?"

[Faux Flag]

1st Level | 0/1000 XP

Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg

Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR

 

Dunsmith grins at the mention of the dwarf-sized sensitive irritant, highlighting the gap between her two front teeth from clearly having taken a punch or other blow to the face at some point in her life.

 

"The Gold Tank Reserve hasn't served the Gold-Fisted Master in some time, if you're one of the few people in this city to worry about their sins," the dwarf replies as Chalia begins asking her questions. "The only master that bank serves nowadays is Mugland."

 

Dunsmith pauses and considers the rest of Chalia's questions for a little longer. "I don't go moseying in much myself but the bank's relatively small; only the single storey as well," she says. "You're probably looking at your standard entrance and lobby, windows and counters for the clerks, and then the vault behind them. Maybe a couple 'a back offices too. You've got just less than a day to make any preparations before you pull the trigger—casing the joint would be a good start. And if you make yourselves look slimy and rich, and don't cause trouble, nobody should raise an eyebrow if you take a look inside.

 

"As for guards, just the clockworks. Baalkirk Model C-47s: cheap but dumb as bricks, and not much more use other than standing in front of doors and chasing rats. Folks say Mugland takes off the safety padding from their fists though, so mind their punches. There's usually half a dozen of them but most of them are out on maintenance, so get in there before tomorrow afternoon, before they’re returned."

 

Dunsmith takes another sip of whiskey. "There might be other folks in there if you do it during the day," she continues. "When it comes to Mugland's businesses, nobody's innocent. That said, best to not go killing anybody or taking hostages. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind taking his 'investors' down a notch too, but I can't abide working with a crew of marauders as wicked as Asmodeus himself."

[cluttered]

Morgrym Bronzehall Dwarf Inventor 1

---

HP: 20/20 | AC: 18 | Perception: +5, darkvision

Fort: +7 | Ref: +5 | Will: +7

Skills: Acrobatics +3, Arcana +7, Crafting +7, Diplomacy +2, Lore (Brigh) +7, Lore (Engineering) +7, Medicine +5, Religion +5, Society +7, Stealth +3

---

"You might do well to worry for your sins from time to time too," Morgrym replies, unable to keep a slight edge of rebuke from his voice. "But worry not, our quarrel is with Mugland; we have no need or want to hurt anyone else. And if the gold in that bank truly goes only to Ambrost, then I for one would relish the chance to pull one over on him."

Edited July 11, 2022 by cluttered (see edit history)

[farothel]

Chalia Chemaris, Elven fighter

Medium

Perception +6; low-light vision, darkvision

Str +4, Dex +1, Con +1, Int +2, Wis +1, Cha +0

---

AC 18; Fort +6, Ref +6, Will +4

HP 17/17; Speed 30 ft.

---

Character sheet: https://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=2349956 

 

Chalia nodded, but kept quiet for now, letting the others ask questions.  She did make a mental note that they best do a recon of the building, both inside and outside to see other getaway routes.  For inside the most likely person to do so was Flopper, maybe with her or the dwarf as bodyguard.  The others could check the outside.  She really didn't like these kind of rush jobs, but sometimes there was no avoiding it and getting one up on Mugland would be a fun thing.

[AnemoneEnemy]

 

Glumworth Cartwrong HP: 15/15 | AC: 16 | Perception: +4 Fort: +4 | Ref: +6 | Will: +6 ResourcesHalfling Luck - 1/day | SpellsFear Summon Fey L1: 2/2 | Skills Acrobatics +6 Crafting +7 Deception +4 Intimidation +4 Lore: Academia +7 Occultism +7 Society +7 Stealth +6 Thievery +6

---

---

"Sins! Who has the time?!"

 

The... gnomeling?... snorts.
"Who's the manager? Doubt they like Ugly Mugland any more than anyone else, short of his favorite depraved sheep. Maybe we should pay them a visit in the night. Maybe the keys will go for a little stroll. Or maybe we can cut them in. Isn't there supposed to be an inside man for these things?"

He pulls himself up into a stool with great effort, and drums his fingers on the bar top; one of the mugs uncurls its handle and taps along with him.
 

"Anyway. Clockworks run on instructions. Obviously. We need to know what those are. Very obviously. Boundaries! Tethers! Threat ranges! Which means we need to get them from the manufacturer, or... somewhere."

[Lex Samreeth]

"There is but one small problem with any plan of using me to reconnoiter the premises," The Flopper interjects. His smirk falters a bit as he flicks his ears, sending those tassels at the top swinging. "Even after factoring in the rareness of catfolk in Alkenstar, I have several well-known features that are difficult to conceal. Hence, why I wrapped myself up like a smokestack tender on the way here. I have significant doubts that I would be able to simultaneously pass myself off as a well-to-do investor or manufacturer and concealing enough parts of me that nobody immediately points a finger at me and calls for the Shieldmarshals. Especially if one of those Shieldmarshals is Loveless."

 

The Flopper frowns and knocks back his whiskey, coughing a bit as he feels the burn pass down his throat. He then nods at Glumworth, before rapidly bringing his hand down on his goggles, which had started to inch their way across the table.

 

"Obtaining details on the clockworks, on the other hand...that is something I'd likely be able to do. Do we have the names of anyone who works at the Gold Tank? Or locations where they prefer to wet their whistles after a long shift? I've no doubt I'd be able to tease out some sensitive information from them."

[Davkas]

Kvikh Lawful Good Investigator 1 HP: 16/16 | AC: 16 | Perception: +6 Fort: +5 | Ref: +7 | Will: +6 ResourcesFILL ME | SpellsFILL ME | SkillsFILL ME

---

Kvikh drums his fingers on the table as he considers the situation. This is going to take as much planning as they can possibly fit into the time they have. His words come out rapid-fire, trying to keep up with his thoughts. "I can case a joint well enough. Passing for an investor is a taller order unless someone has better clothes I can borrow, but just staying unrecognized is the easy part." Plenty of ysoki wear hoods all the time, after all - if he's hiding his face under his, a lot of people will probably not look too closely.

 

His lip curls a little. "A shootout wasn't exactly my first plan. Even aside from what my conscience thinks of the idea, it's not really practical." He cocks his head as the awkward-looking newcomer speaks up. "Manager could go either way. Either they're a toady, or you're right and they have a permanent overdose of Mugland. Worth checking out, though, yes - if we can swing it in the time we've got. Workers are a better source on the clockworks than the manufacturer, Mugland might adjust the parameters as well as take off the safeties."

 

He smiles again, grimly. "Got to be careful with those. I've no desire to get my block knocked off. Need that to think with, thank you."

[Faux Flag]

1st Level | 0/1000 XP

Book One: Punks in a Powder Keg

Oathday, 28th of Gozran (IV), 4722 AR

 

"The vault should be open during business hours. The inside gate'll be locked, but the bank manager, a Mugland crony named Dresh, has the keys. If you go in the night, you'll have to crack both yourself," Dunsmith replies. "As for a man on the inside...you might have an easier job 'persuading' one of them if you can find one. I'd suggest crawling the bars. None of them can unlock the inside gate, but if you could get a key from one of the staff, you could even go in the back. There's an employee entrance in the alley that connects to the junkyard. That's also how you make your escape."

 

The dwarven woman tops up her drink, as well as the glass belonging to anyone else that is running low. "I don't know much about the clockworks," Dunsmith continues, lounging back in her seat, "but your idea about finding the grease monkey who works with Mugland's bots sounds a good one to me. They're probably the sort of slimeball who hangs around the various tinker and junk shops around town but any of you more accustomed to that life may know better than I."

 

Foebe Dunsmith then stands up and walks over to a small cupboard along the side of the private booth. She opens the wooden doors to reveal a hoard of various glass bottles of whiskeys and other spirits. Instead of picking one out, she unceremoniously pushes them to each side, clearing a space between the bottles to the back of the cupboard. You hear a click! and the dwarf pulls out a thin sheet of wood with a notch in one corner—a false back. Dunsmith reaches forward, slides a small box out, and carries it back over to the table you are seated around.

 

"Here's a few things you might be able to use," she explains, and begins emptying the contents onto the table. The first is a wide-bottomed, leather satchel crisscrossed with stitching seemingly at random. The pouch is followed by five identical objects: a collection of curled brimmed hats the colour of faded granite. "You can keep the pouch. Put all of the gold in it, otherwise it'll slow you down, you hear? If you can't open the box, slide the whole godsdarned thing in. The hats are better than any bandana or disguise. Put one on and you can change your face, hairdo, you name it. You can't change your height and build too much though, and it's only how you look on the surface, so don't go for anything that sticks out or things like that. They only work once a day, so don't go wasting them. Oh, and don't muss 'em up—I'll be wanting them back when you're done."

 

Dunsmith pulls a small, brass clock from her pocket. "You've got 16 hours by my watch 'fore the rest of the clockworks are back and up and running. That's the rest of this evening for any prep y'all want to do, then the early morning if you're going in before business hours or time to get some rest and crack them when they're open in the day. Make sure you're in and out before tomorrow afternoon though, or you'll have a small army of metal men to contend with.

 

"Now, do you fine, upstanding folks have any other questions before I go check if any of the drunks need a clubbing 'round the head?"